A Tarnished Family Tree
by Joules Mer
Summary: Perhaps Malcolm's family history isn't as proud as it seems... (T/R)


I had a few free hours around midnight. Sorry for the lack of substance, I just wrote until I could go to sleep.  
  
Title: A Tarnished Family Tree  
Author: Joules Mer  
Pairing: T/R  
Rating: PG  
Length:1,200  
Archive: Yes to EntSTSlash. Anyone else go ahead, just let me know.  
A/N for fanfiction.net: This is the first in a set of two fics that I wrote. The second is in response to the feedback I got on EntSTSlash for this one, and it will be uploaded when I get it formatted.  
  
This is a response to post 7213 on EntSTSlash, the "not quite bunny, not quite challenge: perhaps Mal's family history is a lot less proud than they make out..." which was offered up by Random Dent. Thanks a bunch.  
  
  
  
"Well I'm just saying it wouldn't be proper."  
  
"It wouldn't be _proper_." Trip worked his mouth around the distasteful word as he drew out its syllables. He stopped in his tracks in the corridor and fixed his lover with a look of utter disbelief. Malcolm looked back levelly. "Un-be-lievable, you're actually serious."  
  
"Of course I'm serious. As an officer it isn't my place to..."  
  
"Malcolm! Where d'ya get this stuff from?"  
  
"What 'stuff' would that be exactly?"   
  
Having just lost the last shred of what he normally called his patience, Trip plowed unwittingly ahead into dangerous territory. "What exactly hmmm? I'll tell ya, how's about the proper this and model officer that for a _start_."  
  
Malcolm's eyes narrowed alarmingly and he firmly clenched his hands into tight fists before speaking. "If that is your opinion, sir, then with all due respect I would suggest that we continue this discussion in private."  
  
"Now you're doing it again!" Trip practically howled. "See what I told ya.." It was at this moment that Malcolm, for the first time in his life, disregarded his ingrained respect for superior officers by assaulting one as he manhandled Trip the short distance to his quarters and shoved him inside. Trip, rather shocked by his rapid relocation, wisely kept his mouth shut as Malcolm rounded on him.  
  
"As I was saying _Commander_ Tucker, your impracticable plan is a temerarious attempt to attain a positively puerile goal. It would be an improper use of the privileges associated with our respective ranks and could create a full blown interstellar incident. You're so bloody quixotic Trip."  
  
"And you get all verbose when yer angry." They both regarded each other as their anger slowly drained away. "Just drop the demeanor Malcolm, at least when it's only the two of us. I thought we'd figured out that the Royal Navy doesn't suit ya."  
  
Malcolm sighed and shook his head. "You don't understand Trip. We Reeds have been in the Royal Navy for generations, I _am_ the Royal Navy. It's a part of being a Reed."  
  
"Malcolm, just let me ask ya one thing. Where in the world do ya get this stuff from? You're a million miles from any ocean, hell, you're the Reed that didn't join the navy."  
  
"Do you know how the Reeds became navy men?"  
  
" 'Cause it was their duty, or for the heroics or something similarly gallant? Hell, I've heard about your father's ideals and I know you Mal. Was it giving the family a formal good bye before tally-ho-ing off to sail the seas for king and country?"  
  
Malcolm's face was strangely unreadable, yet if Trip looked closely he could almost believe that Malcolm looked distinctly e_mbarrassed._   
  
"I think we'd better sit down because this could take a while, and if I've left any of my Guinness here I think I could use it now." Malcolm sat at Trip's desk while Trip rummaged around in what served as his liquor cabinet. He located some suitable beverages and passed one to Malcolm before settling on his bed.  
  
"This is the story of Edward Reed, a direct ancestor of mine." Malcolm paused to take a fortifying swig of his Guinness before he continued. "He was, well, a robber, but not a very good one. He tried to rob a pub but he encountered several rather severe obstacles that foiled his plans." Malcolm paused and examined his drink before he continued. "The first was that he had been drinking all afternoon and as a result was quite potted." Malcolm trailed off and his cheeks flushed slightly. He cleared his throat and continued. "The next obstacle was the fact that the pub wasn't closed. There was a big football match that day, I think it was the FA cup, and the pub had a television." At Trip's somewhat blank look he hastened to explain, "Think of one of the first televised superbowls." Trip's eyebrows raised at that thought. "It was the only pub in a rather small town so everyone was there, including a local bobby."  
  
"Whoops."  
  
"Exactly, so he comes reeling in the front door carrying an empty money sack, a screwdriver and a ring of homemade lock picks. He takes one look at the crowd and brandishes his screwdriver while telling them to put their hands up."  
  
"That's a mighty ambitious stick up."  
  
"His next problem was that there had been a skeet shooting tournament earlier in the day. It seems that most of the participants had come directly to the pub afterwards. A second later he was the one with his hands in the air." Malcolm took another swig of his Guinness. "He took one look at the guns..."  
  
"And?" Trip prompted gently.  
  
"That's when he threw up in the middle of the pub, all over his shoes too. He was arrested immediately after that." Trip's expression was wavering between disbelief and amusement. He quickly tried to mask the amusement as although Malcolm could often be hard to read, it was apparent that laughter wouldn't be appreciated.   
  
"He sat in the police car singing the North Atlantic Squadron and something else about the luck of the Irish."  
  
"How's that song go?"  
  
"You don't want to know. Suffice to say it isn't fit for polite company."  
  
"Ah, one of _those_ songs."  
  
"The final nail in the coffin was that when the policeman told him to be quiet he declared 'I'm a British bulldog' and started barking. I've always been a bit skeptical of the verity of that last bit though. Edward had a history of what one could politely call brushes with the law so the judge gave him a choice: the gaol or the navy. He shipped out the next day."  
  
"Sounds like a good choice ta me. How's the naval dynasty fit in exactly."  
  
"The ease of his conviction was a result of the number of witnesses. Witnesses who went home and told their families, witnesses who thought it was the most exciting thing that had happened in their entire life."  
  
"Witnesses who would never forget?"  
  
"Precisely. Even when Edward had a rather distinguished career behind him everyone would still say things like 'That's Edward Reed, know why he joined the navy?' "  
  
"Bit of a sore spot huh?"  
  
"When his son was old enough he joined up and sailed away. The difference was that he did it on his own free will and he was going to do it _right._ Since then it's what the Reeds have done. You're told this story while perched on your father's knee and when you're old enough you join the navy and have a long, distinguished career. It's a matter of pride."  
  
"Gawd Malcolm, that's a couple of centuries of clearing your name."  
  
"Not clearing his name! We can't ever clear his name, he was completely guilty. That's not what it's about. It's just, it's about reputation and being in the navy honestly, " Malcolm was slowly winding down "and, well, I don't know."  
  
"And that 'I don't know' sums up how I feel too. The whole Reed tradition is based on _that_?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"An ancestor trying to rob the local waterin' hole and takin' the navy over prison"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Whew." They regarded each other for a while until the silence was broken by Trip. "I know one thing Mal."  
  
"What's that luv?"  
  
"Ya don't wanna know what the _Tuckers_ are _in_famous for."  
  
  
  
  



End file.
